Fall of Giants

Grigori remained on the ground. He was not going to fight back if he could help it. Let Pinsky take his revenge, then perhaps he would be satisfied.

In the next second he failed to keep that resolution.

Pinsky raised the sledgehammer. In a flash of redundant insight Grigori recognized the tool as his own, used for tapping templates into the molding sand. Then it came down at his head.

He lurched to the right but Pinsky slanted his swing, and the heavy oak tool came down on Grigori’s left shoulder. He roared with pain and anger. While Pinsky was recovering his balance, Grigori leaped to his feet. His left arm was limp and useless, but there was nothing amiss with his right, and he drew back his fist to hit Pinsky, regardless of the consequences.

He never struck the blow. Two figures he had not noticed materialized either side of him in black-and-green uniforms, and his arms were grabbed and held firmly. He tried to shake off his captors but failed. Through a mist of rage he saw Pinsky draw back the hammer and strike. The blow hit him in the chest, and he felt ribs crack. The next blow was lower, and pounded his belly. He convulsed and vomited his breakfast. Then another blow struck the side of his head. He blacked out for a moment, and came around to find himself hanging limply in the grip of the two policemen. Isaak was similarly pinned by two others.

“Feeling calmer now?” said Pinsky.

Grigori spat blood. His body was a mass of pain and he could not think straight. What was going on? Pinsky hated him, but something must have happened to trigger this. And it was bold of Pinsky to act right here in the middle of the factory, surrounded by workers who had no reason to like the police. For some reason he must have been feeling sure of himself.

Pinsky hefted the sledgehammer and looked thoughtful, as if considering one more blow. Grigori braced himself and fought the temptation to beg for mercy. Then Pinsky said: “What is your name?”

Grigori tried to speak. At first nothing but blood came out of his mouth. At last he managed to say: “Grigori Sergeivich Peshkov.”

Pinsky hit him in the stomach again. Grigori groaned and vomited blood. “Liar,” said Pinsky. “What is your name?” He lifted the sledgehammer again.

Konstantin stepped from his lathe and came forward. “Officer, this man is Grigori Peshkov!” he protested. “All of us have known him for years!”

“Don’t lie to me,” Pinsky said. He lifted the hammer. “Or you’ll get a taste of this.”

Konstantin’s mother, Varya, intervened. “It’s no lie, Mikhail Mikhailovich,” she said. Her use of the patronymic indicated that she knew Pinsky. “He is who he says he is.” She stood with her arms folded over her large bosom as if defying the policeman to doubt her.

“Then explain this,” said Pinsky, and he pulled from his pocket a sheet of paper. “Grigori Sergeivich Peshkov left St. Petersburg two months ago aboard the Angel Gabriel.”

Kanin, the supervisor, appeared and said: “What’s going on here? Why is no one working?”

Pinsky pointed to Grigori. “This man is Lev Peshkov, Grigori’s brother-wanted for the murder of a police officer!”

They all began to shout at once. Kanin held up his hand for quiet and said: “Officer, I know Grigori and Lev Peshkov, and have seen both men almost every day for several years. They look alike, as brothers generally do, but I can assure you that this is Grigori. And you are holding up the work of this section.”

“If this is Grigori,” said Pinsky with the air of one who plays a trump card, “then who left on the Angel Gabriel?”

As soon as he had asked the question, the answer became obvious. After a moment it dawned on Pinsky too, and he looked foolish.

Grigori said: “My passport and ticket were stolen.”

Pinsky began to bluster. “Why did you not report this to the police?”

“What was the point? Lev had left the country. You could not bring him back, nor my property.”

“That makes you an accomplice in his escape.”

Kanin intervened again. “Captain Pinsky, you began by accusing this man of murder. Perhaps that was a good enough reason to stop production in the wheel shop. But you have admitted that you were in error, and now you allege only that he failed to report the theft of some documents. Meanwhile, your country is at war, and you are delaying the manufacture of locomotives desperately needed by the Russian army. Unless you wish your name to be mentioned in our next report to the army high command, I suggest you finish your business here quickly.”

Pinsky looked at Grigori. “What reserve unit are you in?”

Without thinking, Grigori replied: “Narva regiment.”

“Hah!” said Pinsky. “They were called up today.” He looked at Isaak. “You, too, I’ll bet.”

Isaak said nothing.

“Release them,” Pinsky said.

Grigori staggered when they let go of his arms, but he managed to stay upright.